I wish I used my brain more. A common lament, I suspect, but I mean it in a sense beyond the immediate. Obviously I do still wish I were more thoughtful and considering in my actions, more capable of logical or complex thought processes. I wish I pondered the consequences of my doings to a greater extent, to thereby avoid the unfortunate mishaps that seem to plague my adventures (unwise sexual encounters, I’m talking to you).
I wish I were smarter, definitely. But, like being taller (or, indeed, a baller) or having better eyesight, wishing for extra cranial capacity is unlikely to get me anywhere. I can certainly try and find more things to put in my brain, and this is an endeavour that will hopefully fill my entire life.
But what I really wish is that my brain would give me a little more say about what goes on aboard the good ship JP. It seems to me like I don’t get enough say in the matter.
Your brain is the most complex machine humanity has ever encountered. Abstract thought is all very impressive but what you ought to be really grateful for is all those sublime reactions that keep your body ticking away, all of which your brain takes care of at no extra charge. Regulating temperature, blood concentration, insulin and glucose levels, the rates at which your organs function, your metabolic rate and the hormones that control your emotions, urges and desires. We think ‘run’ and your brain begins to balance the systems to maximise our running output, as well as sending countless electrical signals to the relevant muscles to get us up to speed. Your brain does a whole load of shit without you even having to ask.
Your brain keeps your body working as best it can within preset parameters, a concept known as homeostasis. Consider the myriad systems it is in control of. Consider the thousands of impulses needed every second just to direct these systems. Now imagine trying to control them all through direct thought. If we were in complete control of our bodies, we’d burn our minds out in no time, struggling to cope under the immense pressure of just staying alive. Good ol’ brain, then.
Still, sometimes it’s difficult not to feel a little hard done by. The knowledge that some clinical depression is caused by chemical imbalances in the brain makes it seem like Mr. Thinky up there is holding out on us. We could be happy, if our brain felt like making us so, only it doesn’t. We don’t have to be fat; our brain could just jiggle the hypothalamus around so we didn’t feel quite so hungry. The possibilities are endless.
For me, it would have to be sleep. Insomnia may have a genetic component; it seems likely, as it appears to run in my family. My father struggles with it, and my youngest brother also. As disorders go it ain’t so bad, but it’s not a huge amount of fun either. It is even harder to swallow when I lie awake thinking that blissful oblivion is just a few hormones away.
Imagine if we could work on a more cooperative basis with our brains. When we thought it was time to go to sleep, we could just tell the brain it was so, and off we’d go together. Everybody gets what they need. An ideal system.
Of course it can’t work like that. Machines do not work that way, and at the level we are talking about your brain is just that: a machine. As far as I am concerned it is probably for the best, as I doubt I am really the man to be left in charge.
My brain does a lot for me, that we have already established. And how do I repay its kindness? I poison it with drugs and alcohol. I feed it more than what it needs of some things, and starve it from all the rest. I go without sleep, and then complain when its rhythms are upset. Homeostasis matters not a jot to me, I smash through the brain’s delicate systems in search of selfish hedonism.
So I can’t really complain. If I’m going to do Ecstasy, I only have myself to blame when I can’t get warm for hours at a time. When I’m drunk and constantly need a pee, I can feel my brain prissily stating:
“It isn’t MY fault. Everything was going fine until YOU got involved. Now look at us, not enough serotonin to go around, and I can’t get your bloody heartbeat to slow down. Yes, I KNOW you need a pee, you’ve ingested five pints of fluid. No you can’t have any more hormones, they’ve all gone. Well you shouldn’t have demanded them all at once, should you? And for fuck’s sake would you put that cigarette out? Can’t I leave you for five seconds without you deliberately ingesting a toxin? Was all that basic danger recognition we learnt as a toddler a complete waste of time? Honestly, I don’t know why I bothered dragging you down from the trees.”
So maybe it’s best that my brain does all the really challenging stuff itself, and leaves the idle musings to me. And maybe I should treat the old guy a tad better than I do. But I really would like some sleep now. Pretty, pretty please?
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